Morning all. I woke up around two am with a new and strange character in my brain and had to get up and write him down so I could get back to sleep. It’s thrown me a little off this morning. But I think he is now out of my brain and aved to my waiting room file while I work out what story he could possibly be a part of. Maybe this writing prompt will provide one, who knows. So lets get started and shift the mental focus a bit. everyone got their timer’s ready? Excellent. Let’s go.
Okay this is not hos story. So the hunt will continue. Although now I do want to find out what the deal is with George. So that’s something.
Wednesday, December 9th: He was the only left handed person in the group of suspects.
He was the only left handed person in the group of suspects. The thought gnawed at Dan during the drive home. He thought about what the coroner said. He thought about the crime scene. Thinking it through, Dan knew the left handed George was innocent.
“Well maybe not innocent,” he conceded. He thumped his steering wheel in time to the radio as he slowed, then stopped at the red light.
“George is up to something,” Dan said. “He just isn’t our murderer.”
In and of itself, that was interesting. The light turned green and seeing no one in the intersection, Dan proceeded forward. He interviewed all of them. All eighty six people who had been at the party. Most didn’t know anything, didn’t see anything and were easily dismissed once their names and contact information was taken down. It was the eight in the room that he knew would form the nexus of information surrounding the body.
“And seven of them thought George was the guilty party.”
Not that any of them came right out and said that. But each in their own way intimated that if he was to look at anyone, George would be their suggestion. George had been the last interview of the night and Dan was curious as to what he would find.
He found that George wasn’t thrilled about being questioned. “But then again who is?” Dan admitted.
George had also been cagey on several routine questions Things that should have been easy answers took more time than expected. “Didn’t say much,” Dan mumbled as he flipped on his turn signal. “But thought a lot.”
In fact Dan was pretty sure he thought through every answer, weighed it and possibly even edited it before a single word came out of his mouth. George didn’t say anything that he didn’t want to. He didn’t lie, at least he didn’t lie in a way that Dan could sniff out as an immediate lie, but he held back a lot.
‘He’d be a demon at the Friday poker game,” Dan thought as he turned onto Birch lane.” After an hour poking and prodding, Dan still couldn’t get a feel for the man.
“But he didn’t lay the blame on anyone else,” Dan said. He slowed his speed to account for the residential neighborhood. He doubted anyone would be in the street at this time of night, but it didn’t hurt anything to be careful. He wasn’t in any rush to get home anyway. He thought better when he drove and right now he had plenty to think about.
George hadn’t implicated anyone either directly or indirectly. When asked specifically if George thought anyone bore looking into, George lifted an eyebrow and stiffly said, “I do not believe I consort with murderers.” When pressed he suggested someone might have climbed in the window. As the window was twelve stories off the ground and didn’t open, it wasn’t much of a suggestion.
“But if everyone is willing to throw old Georgie boy under the bus there must be a reason,” Dan decided. He somehow doubted it was because they all independently thought George did it. “George could have something on them,” Dan mused. Somehow he could see George as a blackmailer rather than a burglar. There were other reasons including the fact that all seven of them wanted Franklin Arlington dead and conspired together. “Then George could be the scape goat.” Dan shrugged. He felt the long day catch up to him. George would bear looking into, but then so would everyone else.
Ten til Midnight 